Flotsam and Jetsam (and Brownies)
by RexDragosaurus
Summary: A collection of stand-alone short one-shots and long drabbles. Will contain silly humour, slightly warped themes, a smattering of running gags, and a LOT of brownies.
1. Suffering

**A/N: **Late one night, as I sat with a friend, a little hyper from too much sugar-devouring, watching "Eragon" and making fun of how terrible it was, we began calling out alternate lines for the characters to say, and a story was created. Not just one story, but many stories, which I have written down, and which in turn have inspired further stories. These stories are the stories you, dear reader, are about to see. Please note, then, that this is the only warning you will be receiving. These stories were born out of silliness, and refining them somewhat only increased the silliness. If you are a passionate fan of Eragon and friends with no sense of humour, do not attempt to read this collection. If not, however, then enjoy if you possibly can. Do know, also, that while the Inheritance Cycle is by no means my favourite series, I bear it no grudge, nor do I have anything but respect for Christopher Paolini. Thank you for taking the time to read this. Now prepare to groan, smile, or possibly spontaneously combust.

**Suffering**

King Galbatorix looked slowly at Durza, his lowly minion and generally terrifying Shade, who had red hair that was vibrant and bloody-looking, though nowhere near the gorgeousness of a certain Kvothe Kingkiller's fiery coiffure.

"I _suffer_ without my stone," the king drawled casually in a startlingly American accent, stressing the word "suffer" as though suffering was some novel concept no one had ever heard of before. "Do _not _pro_long_ my _suffering_."

Durza gazed back nervously, licking his dry lips with the air of one savouring a delicious taste. As a matter of fact, there was a suspicious dark substance around the corners of his mouth that gave him the look of one who has been eating something recently. Something sticky, chocolaty. _Brownies_, perhaps. "As you like it, my liege," he murmured, ceasing the lip-tasting just long enough to hiss out a reply that was somehow both genteel and oily. "There is but one thing I would ask of you beforehand. A small boon I might beg of my king before I leave his royal side, you understand..."

"Well, what is it?" Galbatorix rejoined shortly. "I haven't got all day, you know, and my _suffering _redoubles with every passing second."

"Uh," Durza stuttered, suddenly becoming greatly less articulate. The suspicious brownie-resembling substance around his lips glistened beneath its ample coating of saliva. "It's—it's..."

"Spit it out, man!" the king snapped. "Or my _suffering _will be apt to _kill _me sometime in the near future."

Durza licked his lips once more, gathered himself together and paused, readying himself to make his request. Then the words tumbled out of his mouth in a great, drunken rush, each syllable of each word shooting forth from between his rubbery, suspicious-brownie-resembling-substance-stained lips like an arrow from a bow. "Will you marry me!?" he all but screamed.

A vast silence filled the creepy, low-budget plastic evil lair. Then the king spoke. "You...you wish to propose to me?" he mumbled thickly through his pronounced, drawling accent that seemed so out of place in his world.

"Indeed, my liege," Durza admitted, a little sigh of relief escaping from in between those flabby, suspicious-brownie-resembling-substance-stained lips of his. He licked them again, making the suspicious brownie-resembling substance glisten more than ever.

"You wish for my hand in marriage?" King Galbatorix gasped.

"Well, not exactly," Durza confessed. "Actually, I just wanted to propose to you. I don't really give a damn what your reply is, I just like proposing to people. The tension and uncertainty arouses my eerie, Shade-like urges."

"I see," Galbatorix said thoughtfully. "The thing is, I wouldn't mind being engaged to you, Durza."

"Wh-what?" Durza gaped openly, the suspicious brownie-resembling substance on his lips wrinkling up at the corners of his mouth ever so slightly beneath its coating of saliva. "_You _wish to _marry _me, my liege?"

"Ah, no." Galbatorix corrected. "I wish merely to be engaged to you. I'm afraid you're far too ugly to marry, but you see, I have always secretly wished to be engaged to someone. Just engaged, mark you, for being engaged is terribly more romantic than actually being tethered to the same boring old spouse for life. Wouldn't you agree?"

"I suppose," Durza mumbled. Being a very ugly Shade, he knew nothing of marriage, save that you were meant to propose first.

"Then you accept?" King Galbatorix gasped. "In truth, my dear Durza, you would not have been my first choice—in fact, you are my last. But all the lovely ladies of the world are opposed to me, and the gentlemen would never favour me above one of the afore-mentioned ladies. So you see I am in something of a dilemma...unless you aid me, Durza."

"Very well," Durza sighed, resigned. At least, he reflected, it was just an engagement, and nothing more. Engaged couples weren't expected to _do _anything much, except be merry and flushed with romantic excitement—which Durza nearly always was, though no one bothered to notice. He licked his lips again, tasting splendid, delicious chocolate around the edges of his chops.

"Splendid," the king said briskly. "Shove off and get me my stone then, would you? My _suffering _has diminished somewhat thanks to your compliance, but I need the stone yet, for now I must have an engagement ring."

"An _engagement_ ring?" Durza questioned incredulously. "I thought only the _ladies _had those."

"It's _my _country, is it not?" Galbatorix demanded, very much put out by this frank abomination so boldly administered by his new fiance. "I can bloody-well do as I please in my own land—and in others too, for that matter, since I am the most powerful man alive. So put _that _in your pipe and smoke it. But get me the stone first."

"Your wish is my command, babe," Durza muttered, "but it seems a very large stone to use for an engagement ring."

"_Babe?"_ Galbatorix repeated crossly, disregarding the rest of Durza's malcontent remark. "What is this _babe_ nonsense you dare to utter in my presence? How dare you? I had a title last time I checked!"

"B-but," Durza stuttered, "I thought since we're affianced, I could—"

"Affianced-shmaffianced." the king retorted contemptuously. "Durza, I may be your fiance, but I am also your king. You would do well to remember this in the future."

"Very good, my liege," Durza whimpered, running his soft, moist pink tongue over his dry, cracked brown lips again. The chocolate didn't seem to taste as sweet this time.

"Huh," King Galbatorix muttered. "The _nerve _of some people. I swear, my _suffering _is beginning to swell within my heaving, masculine and hairy abdomen even now."

"I'm very sorry, my liege," Durza put in, licking even harder in his desperation to be out looking for the stone and away from this madman king. The chocolate's flavour was most definitely fading. He decided he'd better go and bake some more brownies as soon as the horrid meeting was over.

"Very well," King Galbatorix said pompously—or as pompously as his accent would allow. "Just remember one thing, Durza. We are engaged, but we are not to be married. We are affianced, but we are not lovers. We may wear engagement rings as we please—" He trailed off threateningly for a moment, then resumed. "—but we are _not _an item in any way, shape or form, and we shall _never _be seen or heard using such revolting terms of endearment as you have just uttered. Is that clear?"

"Clear as day, my liege." Durza whispered, beginning to fidget like an impatient child. He really needed some bloody brownies at that moment.

The king nodded, seeming vaguely satisfied with himself, then gestured curtly. "Hurry up with my stone. I need to make that ring as soon as can be, for my _suffering _is nearly upon me."

"If it please you, my liege," Durza said slowly, "is not the stone a little...weighty for such a ring? I have heard the thing weighs as much as, oh, I don't know, a dragon hatchling, say. Would not this weigh down your most revered hand in such manner as to inconvenience you terribly? I beg you to reconsider, my liege, one fiance to another. Will you not let me go down to Ferendelli's to purchase some fine diamond or something—"

"Ah, Durza," Galbatorix chuckled. "You are so comically naïve sometimes, I think you should have chosen the career path of a court jester rather than a Shade—even if you _were _born a Shade." When he saw Durza didn't follow, he explained. "_This _ring is not one for wearing. At least—" He hesitated, then bulled ahead resignedly. "—at least, not on my _finger_."

Durza's mouth contorted, forming a silent 'o' of surprise. "I, er..." he stuttered anxiously. "Forgive my forwardness, my liege, but...are you sure it would, er, fit properly? It would have to be a _very _large ring for such a stone, I mean. That is—" He choked. "—not to imply that its—destination, for want of a better word—is too small, or anything. I mean, I haven't seen it, so I don't know, but I do imagine that it would be quite impossible for such a _large _ring to fit such a, er, _lesser-large _limb, if you take my meaning." He finished his awkward protestations on a very flustered note, and found himself unable to look the king in the eye. He didn't even have the heart to lick his lips again. Not that they would taste particularly good by this stage anyhow.

The king, for his part, seemed only a trifle irritated by this speech. "Nonsense, my good fellow," he said briskly. "I think I know the width of my pet lemur's tail better than _you _do." He heaved a languishing sigh. "Just think, Durza," he chuckled affectionately. "How regal and proud my dear Dolly shall look with my splendiferous engagement ring encircled about the tip of her tail. It is, you understand, a much more public place, in general, than any one of my fingers, and my ring shall be so very lovely that I will wish to display it in the most public of places. How very clever I am! Wouldn't you agree?"

Durza, having no intelligible reply to this, licked his lips once, and coughed slightly.


	2. Boys Will Be Boys

**Boys Will Be Boys**

Rain pelted down from the heavens. Eragon and Brom fled through the trees on horseback. Eragon's horse was named Mr Ed, and Brom's was named Magical Vanishing Pony, or MVP for short. Saphira flew before them, her sparkling blue scales blending in with the darkening sky above. The still smouldering remains of Garrow's farm lay behind them, standing out in sharp contrast with the darkness.

Eragon knew not whether the Ra'zac still lurked about, but he didn't want to wait and find out. Suddenly, though, a terrible, horrible thought struck Eragon like lightning. He franticly reined Mr Ed to a halt, and hailed Brom urgently. "Hail, Brom!" he yelled, waving his hands wildly and nearly falling off Mr Ed. "Hail!"

Up ahead, Brom turned sharply to a halt on MVP and glared at Eragon. "What the hell do you want now, you damned idiot? It's pelting down like deity's piss, it's cold, it's thundering, we have a dragon to hide and a couple of bloody Ra'zac to run from! What could your blasted excuse be _this _time? We already went to the dunny, and we've just had dinner!"

"Well—" Eragon began, but was sharply cut off by his elderly companion.

"Well what?" Brom demanded. "Oh, let me guess. You want to go find a fricking pay phone out in this forsaken cesspool of a place we live in and call up your damned stinking cousin to see if he's okay? WE HAVEN'T GOT THE BLOODY TIME FOR THAT, YOU BLITHERING MORON!" Hoarse and out of breath, Brom was forced to stop shouting after a moment or two filled with strings of colourful curses.

Eragon took the chance to speak. "No," he said. "It's not that rotten old Roran I want to speak to. He's already buggered off and left me, so why should I give a damn about him?"

"Spoken—like an obnoxious—teenager," Brom muttered sharply, narrowing his eyes as he fought to get his breath back.

"I'm not an obnoxious teenager!" Eragon snapped.

_Sorry mate, but you really actually are. _Saphira said unhelpfully, landing nearby with all the grace and poise of a lame duck.

"I'm not!" Eragon screamed, balling his hands into fists.

"Alright, alright," Brom said, regaining something of his equilibrium in his amusement at this juvenile display. "Just tell me why you wanted to stop—and I already told you no McDonalds, so don't start _that _up again."

"It's not _that_ either," Eragon said seriously, though his face flushed. "It's just that...well, we sort of forgot my PlayStation. I want to go and retrieve it."

"Your PlayStation, eh?" Brom mused, seeming surprisingly unruffled at such a ridiculous notion. "Well...you _are_ a Rider, I suppose, so okay. You can get it."

"Thanks," Eragon said gratefully, before stopping short again. "What's being a Rider got to do with the price of eggs?" he demanded.

Brom sighed heavily. "I'll tell you later." he mumbled. "Just go and fetch the rotten PlayStation." Eragon gave a whoop of joy and ran back off towards the burning farm. Mr Ed was left behind, and stared about in a bemused manner for quite some time. Brom sighed again. "He's got all the markings of an obnoxious teenager, that one." he said to himself, pitching his voice so that Saphira could hear as well.

_You're telling me, _Saphira agreed, then added to herself, _I wonder what he'll say when he finds out that I stole his last brownie..._

Moments later, Eragon reappeared. "My PlayStation's been kidnapped." he said forlornly.

Brom face-palmed.


	3. The Varden

**A/N: **Please note for future reference that as well as being stand-alone, these pieces are not meant to be in any kind of canonical or chronological order. So if someone dies in one chapter then reappears in a later chapter, try not to bat an eyelid.

**The Varden**

"How do you know of the Varden?" Eragon demanded, standing very still. He had dismounted from Mr Ed, who stood grazing a little way off. Brom had taken MVP and put her in his pocket, effectively causing her to vanish in a magical cloud of particles.

"It's a long story, Eragon." Brom sighed.

"Tell me anyway," Eragon pleaded. "I promise I'll never be an obnoxious teenager ever again."

_And pigs might fly. _Saphira snorted.

"I SO TOO WILL NOT, YOU HIDEOUSLY UNFEELING DRAGON!" Eragon yelled belligerently.

_You're doing it now,_ Saphira said lazily, giving a wide, toothy grin.

Eragon glared at her, then turned back to Brom. "Please, Brom," he whinged, "won't you tell me all your dirty little secrets?"

"Well, since you put it that way, I guess we're all in need of a little gossip sometimes." Brom grunted caustically.

"Yes, we are." Eragon agreed, missing the sarcasm.

"If you really _must _know," Brom snorted, "I used to date one of them."

"One of who?" asked a very confused Eragon.

"One of the Varden, moron." Brom snapped.

"Oh," said Eragon, comprehending. "Wait...you're _dating_ one of the _Varden?_"

"Used to," Brom corrected irritably. "Good _lord_, boy, you're such an obnoxious teenager!"

"Yeah, righto, mate, but why aren't you dating any more?" Eragon pursued, paying the old story-teller's insults no heed.

"We broke up," Brom said heavily, "over the last brownie."


	4. Preparation

**Preparation**

Durza hunched low over the opened oven door, inhaling deeply, and with no small satisfaction, the warm chocolaty odour pouring from within. He licked his lips absent-mindedly and found them to be almost tasteless by this stage. But that didn't matter, as he now had a nice fresh batch of brownies to relish.

He plucked one delicately from the tray, blew the steam off it and brought it up to sit just beneath his great, gaping nostrils. He sniffed excessively, savoured the delicious smell, and waved the brownie around a bit under his nose. Two long, greasy strands of hair poked out his left nostril and traced delicate patterns in the brownie's gooey surface. Then he stood upright. A sharp twinge told him that one of the hairs had stuck to the brownie's surface and been torn out, but he didn't mind.

He shoved the cake entirely into his mouth, chewing blissfully. Then he ate the rest of them, taking care to smear his lips and mouth meticulously with the stuff as though putting on lipstick. When all the brownies were eaten, he checked his equipment and took off into the night. He had a stone to hunt.


	5. A Single Question

**A Single Question**

Arya lay helplessly on a bench of stone, her elvish bosom quivering erotically as she trembled with fear, exhaustion and anger. She knew not where the stone had been sent, or who had found it, or any other such thing. She only knew that her death was imminent.

As if to confirm this bleak notion even further, the door to the cell swung open with a dull creak, and Durza stepped lightly through the frame. His blood-coloured hair hung in limp, tangled strands over his face, snarled and greasy as though he hadn't washed it in days (he actually hadn't). His nails were long, yellow and uneven, bearing many jagged tooth marks, a sign that he had been rather nervous of late. He ran his tongue over his lips, which were as besmirched with faint traces of brownie as ever. He tasted their flavour once again, and this seemed to bolster his confidence enough to enable him to approach the stone bench without visible hesitation.

"Hello, Arya," he whispered in soft, sultry tones. His tongue was like molten silver and honey, and he ran it over his brown lips once more after he'd spoken. His eyes glimmered beneath their curtain of unwashed hair, observing the elf's lithe, supple and undeniably feminine form, lingering briefly upon her still-heaving breasts, and then coming to rest on her face. "Your pulchritudinous appearance steams up your chambers this night and livens my spirits no end."

"Pervert." Arya spat, wishing she were more modestly attired. "What reasons lie behind your presence in this place, save for your wanting to ogle me?"

"Considering your career choices," Durza whispered dangerously, his voice dulcet and venomous as you might imagine a snake's to be, "I'd say you have no reason to complain about being ogled by men (and Shades) such as myself."

Arya flushed beneath her sunken pallor. "What do you know of my career choices?"

Durza gave a sinister smile. "I know all about the internet." he replied silkily. "_All _of it." Before his prisoner could gather herself together for a biting retort, he went on. "But no matter. My reasons, as you say, are there; and beauteous as you are, I do have other motives for visiting you than..._ogling_."

"Well?" Arya returned bitterly. "What of them?"

"I have come," Durza said, "to ask you a question."

"To interrogate me, you mean." Arya corrected icily.

"Wrong," Durza rejoined with infinite majesty and calm. "I just want to ask you a single question. A quite harmless question, I assure you."

"Ask it, then, and be done." Arya sighed.

At this, Durza leaned forward, trembling with excitement and nervousness, his tongue finding its way out to slide over his sticky brown lips again. The stringy red hairs on the back of his shaggy neck prickled, sweat beaded his forehead, and his very goosebumps had goosebumps.

"Arya," he murmured into her ear, "will you marry me?"


	6. A Romantic Name

**A Romantic Name**

"Brom, we have to rescue Arya." Eragon said urgently to Brom.

"Who?" grunted Brom.

"Never you mind," Eragon said impatiently, "just someone that the Shade has locked up nearby."

"Oh," Brom grunted again. "Well, I have to say I really hate Shades, so okay. You can rescue this Arya random. But I'm not helping, see? I have to catch tonight's _Downton Abbey _episode, I have my will to update, I have to thrash Saphira at checkers for the fifth time running, and also I have my death to plan. So I'm really busy, got it?"

"Got it," Eragon said, nodding cheerfully. "I'll be off, then."

"What, you've got a plan already?" Brom demanded, eyebrows shooting sky-high.

"Nah," Eragon said airily. "I'll just rock up and astound them with my awesomeness, sweep my Arya off her feet and then trot back over here. If I'm quick enough, I may even be able to get back in time to watch _Downton _with you. That Matthew Crawley is ridiculously attractive."

"He is." Brom agreed. "But not as much as me."

"You creep!" Eragon exclaimed in disgust. "How do you live with yourself?"

"You're an obnoxious teenager," Brom shrugged. "How do _you _live with _yourself?_"

"I'm a legend," Eragon grinned, loping easily off into the dark depths of the forest. "Don't even attempt to deny it."

* * *

Arya, after having angrily fought a desperately proposing and romantic Durza off, lay once again on her bench, thinking what a relief it was not to have ended up engaged to such a vile, greasy-haired Shade. She was rather startled two minutes later when a tall fair-haired boy burst into the cell of her room. "Who the hell are you?" she asked angrily, trying to conceal her shock.

"I might ask the same of you," the boy returned coolly, looking her over once with an air of disdain.

"You first," Arya snapped. "I _did _ask first, after all."

"True enough," the other returned, "but _I'm _not the one tied down to a bench."

"Fine," Arya said through gritted teeth. "I'm Arya—and you're jolly lucky I'm actually able to even talk to you, because that rotten Durza poisoned me when I turned down his marriage proposal."

"Why'd you do that?" the boy asked, puzzled.

"Have you _seen _Durza?" Arya retorted incredulously. "He's about the ugliest guy on this planet besides King Galbatorix himself! Bleargh!"

"Fair enough," the boy admitted. "So, if this Durza poisoned you, how exactly are you able to talk to me?"

Arya gave an unexpected roguish grin, and said, "I've been taking anti-Shade medications recently. Don't ask about it. Just tell me your name."

"Bob," said the boy—for no, it wasn't Eragon at all.

"Well, Bob, what are you doing here in this dreary place?" Arya inquired wearily.

"I'm helping this other bloke get in," Bob said off-handedly, motioning with his hand towards the door. Through said door came _another _blonde-haired boy of about the same height and age as Bob.

"What's up bros?" he queried cheerily. "I'm Eragon, and I'm here to rescue—" he broke off and stared at Arya.

Arya rolled her eyes and said, "Oh, grand. First Durza, now this random. What is it with horny creeps coming in and staring at my figure? Seriously, I am aware of the fact that I am totally hot, but that's no excuse for every miserable little pervert within a fifty mile radius to pop in and—"

"It's not that," Eragon interrupted this sermon of indignation. "I just thought I knew you from somewhere."

Arya narrowed her eyes. "Aren't you that kinky bastard from that pub back in—"

"No!" Eragon broke in again, horrified. "No, I've definitely seen your face somewhere, but I can't put my finger on it. Who are you, anyway?"

"Arya." Arya said dourly.

Eragon looked blankly at her. "No you're not." he asserted.

"Yes I am." Arya said suspiciously. "What makes you say I'm not? You're here to rescue me, aren't you?"

"I'm here to rescue Arya," Eragon explained, "but you're not her."

"Yes I am!" Arya insisted.

"No you're not." Eragon said stubbornly.

"What makes you so certain?" Arya countered.

"Arya," Eragon said with a sudden smile, "is my PlayStation. I named her that when I first got her, as it seemed rather a romantic name. Sadly she has been kidnapped, however, and I'm here to rescue her."

"But—but..." Arya stammered pitiably. "Can't you rescue me as well? My name is Arya too!"

"Oh, real—" Eragon started to say, then broke off, looking at her intently again. "Now that I come to think about it..." he said quietly after a moment, "you _are _Arya. A different Arya. I _knew _I'd seen you."

"Was it in your dreams?" Bob put in eagerly. "Cos that would have been sooooo romantic."

"No, it's much smuttier than that." Eragon said, a sheepish smile making its way onto his face. "Bob, this is Arya. _The _Arya." He turned to Arya, who was looking somewhat uncomfortable, as though she'd guessed what he was about to say. "Aren't you that famous porn star my cousin keeps looking at in magazines?"

Bob's jaw dropped. Eragon continued to grin in bemusement. Arya would have face-palmed if her wrists hadn't been restrained. "I _knew_ I'd have a bummer of a day today." she muttered under her breath.


	7. Serious or Not

**Serious or Not**

Eragon knelt low beside the crumpled, elderly, masculine and bleeding body on the ground. The sight—had Brom not been such a horrid old turd during his life—would have been enough to make his flesh burn and his stomach churn. He would have felt aroused (not sexually, as he was too much of an obnoxious teenager, but emotionally). As it was, however, Brom _had _been a cantankerous, tight-arsed ponce, so Eragon felt almost no pangs of regret whatsoever at seeing the blood drain from his older companion's face. He did, at least, feel some compunction for having been too busy playing Mario on Arya to have prevented Brom's untimely death at the hands of the vicious Ra'zac.

"Oh, Brom," he whispered now, "why the hell did you have to go and die like that? Now I'm all alone—"

_You have _me_. _Saphira reminded Eragon, but he ignored her.

"—I have no money, no food," he went on sadly, clutching his belly for effect—and here, Brom roused himself from his dying stupor and managed to utter three words.

"You have brownies." he whispered, his eyes shut tight against the pain that besieged him from the hideous stab wound the Ra'zac had bestowed upon his mortal flesh.

"Oh yeah," Eragon recalled, a thoughtful expression settling itself on his boyish features for a moment, like a bird alighting hesitantly on a branch. Then it vanished again as his face fell, and he corrected himself. "Well, that is to say we have _one _left."

_Actually, _Saphira confessed, _we don't even have that. I ate the last brownie._

"WHAT?!" screamed Eragon, whirling around to face the dark blue dragon with his fists clenched. At this, Brom sat upright, a dark scowl on his face. "Look, will you cut it out, you obnoxious teenager?" he growled. "I'm trying to die here, preferably in a peaceful fashion, and you're _ruining _it all with your selfishness!"

"Sorry," Eragon muttered, at which Brom lay back down and closed his eyes again with a small sigh. "But wait," Eragon hastened to add, seemingly desperate to regain Brom's attention. "If I were to ask you a question, would you grace it with an answer before you go?"

Brom opened one eye wearily. "Possibly, if you promise to go away and leave me here to rest in peace afterwards." he snapped. But it was a half-hearted snap.

Eragon nodded gratefully, set down his controller (he'd been playing on Arya throughout the entirety of this discourse) and took a deep breath. "Brom," he said, feeling his body tingle with excitement, "will you marry me?"

Brom looked long and hard at the flushed boy before him, trying to work out whether Eragon was being serious or not. He deduced at last that the question was an earnest one, and rolled his eyes for the last time at such a shocking display of naïve stupidity. "Of _course _not, you galah!" he roared. "I'm FRICKING _DEAD!_"

With these last scathing words, he closed his eyes for a final time and expired.


	8. Dangerous Information

**A/N: **Do recall what I said before about these not being in any order. Also, I am not a gamer, and I apologise to any gamers I may offend with this chapter.

**Dangerous Information**

"Will you tell me about Galbatorix, Brom?" Eragon questioned, an unusually brooding expression settling on his obnoxiously teenage features momentarily.

Brom grunted. "There's an awful lot to tell about him. What exactly do you want to know?"

"Well," Eragon said, considering the matter carefully, "for starters...is he hot?"

"Like hell he is," Brom snorted. "_Everyone _knows he got engaged to some filthy Shade minion of his simply because he desired to get engaged, and no self-respecting maiden in _this _land would ever consent to be his future wife. Why would you ask such a question, anyway?"

"Oh," Eragon answered, looking sheepish and relieved at the same time, "I didn't think it appropriate for him to have more fangirls than me, that's all."

"I see." said Brom, arching an eyebrow. "Well, is that it?"

"No," Eragon said eagerly. "No, there's ever so much more, or at any rate, _one _more question. Why did he quarrel with the Dragon Riders?"

Brom scowled at this, but his scowl was not for Eragon. It was for past events, for Galbatorix and his tyranny over the people of Alagaesia, for the fighting, the massacring of the Riders, for the theft of his last brownie, which had severed his relationship with one of the Varden's most prestigious members. For everything. "As it happens, Eragon," he said at length, "I knew you were destined to be a Rider from the moment we fled your uncle's farm."

"Oh?" Eragon rejoined, frowning to show his confusion. "How, pray tell?"

"You said," Brom replied with a wry smile, "that you wanted to go back for Arya, your PlayStation. PlayStations have been the badge and staple of the Riders since their invention by the very first Rider, Bilbo Baggins. Or—was it Baggins? No, that was someone else. I can't remember the first Rider's name, but anyway, he invented the PlayStation, and so PlayStations have been sacred to the Riders ever since."

"Ah," Eragon said, grinning. "Guess that really _does _make me a Rider, huh?" He then frowned again. "But I don't see what this has to do with Galbatorix."

"Well, you see," said Brom, "Galbatorix believed in the existence of a higher, more powerful and hallowed console player. He perpetually asserted that it was far superior to the PlayStation, and for this sacrilege he was tossed out of the order."

"What console player was this?" Eragon inquired.

"To speak of it is to commit treason against the order," Brom said stubbornly, his brow knitting furiously.

"Oh, _pleeeeeeeaaaaassssssseee _tell me?" Eragon pleaded. "I'll...I'll bake you some brownies!"

Brom threw Eragon a sideways glance, then sighed and muttered something about obnoxious teenagers. "Very well," he said at last. "I shall tell you its name—but only this once, and you must promise never to repeat it to anyone, or you'll be sacked from the order before you've fully joined it."

Eragon nodded, a wolfish grin capturing his face for a minute. He leaned forward as Brom began to speak.

"The name of the fabled, cursed, sinful console player," said Brom, making sure he had Eragon's full attention before he revealed the dangerous information, "is known only as...the _Xbox_."


	9. The Thrill of the Hunt

**The Thrill of the Hunt**

Durza faced Eragon with a wild stare, eyes burning beneath his ever-greasy curtain of hair. His sword was drawn, his lips smeared with brownie as per usual, and he felt the thrill of the hunt as he fixed the boy before him with a gleaming, hungry eye. "Have you any decent fight to put up for me, boy?" he sneered, raising his sword a fraction of an inch through the air.

"Possibly," Eragon shot back, adjusting his grip on Za'roc. "What's it to you?"

"Bloody obnoxious teenagers," Durza sighed to himself before answering. "Whatever. We may as well get on with this, then. I'm not one to run from a live audience."

"It's a wonder they can stand the sight of you." Eragon spat, not moving a muscle.

Durza ran his tongue over his brown-stained lips habitually, eyeing the many gathered men, dwarves and Urgals standing around and watching eagerly. "Don't insult my appearance," he snarled. "I'm ten times hotter than you."

A few bystanders snickered at this comment, but Durza ignored them. Eragon's lip curled as he looked back at Durza, all fear vanishing from his demeanour. "Utter tosh." said he. "Everyone knows you're engaged to Galbatorix because you're so ugly that no one else will have you—or him." Durza's eyelid flickered, and he licked his lips again. "Seriously, bro," Eragon went on. "What's with that nauseating brown lip gloss of yours? It's got to be the most loathsome, distasteful and repellent stuff I've ever seen adorn the lips of man—or Shade."

Durza flinched at this, and his gaze darkened. "You're such a pretty boy." he growled. "I _was _going to do you the honour of proposing, but now I think I'm going to withhold that honour and kill you instead." Without further warning or preamble, he leaped forward, knocked Eragon to the ground and then ran his sword viciously down the boy's back. Eragon screamed and spat a twisted string of swear words out at his assailant, but Durza didn't care. He raised his sword to perform the final, killing blow...

And then lo and behold, who should arrive on the scene but Saphira! She dove swiftly through the air and devoured the unfortunate Shade in one gulp. Then she sat primly up, licking her chops and surveying Eragon as he clambered weakly to his feet.

"Why the hell did you do that?" Eragon gasped, trying to fight down waves of agony.

Saphira gave a rather shamefaced grin. "He tasted like brownies." she admitted.


	10. To Decide

**To Decide**

Eragon, Arya (the porn star, not the PlayStation) and Saphira lay back lazily in a field. It was a lovely spring day, the air was fresh, the breeze warm and the whole of Alagaesia was full of life and vigour. They had decided to cast aside all cares and anxieties for the day, and enjoy a nice picnic in the woods. They had found a pleasant little clearing where the sun's rays could reach down and light up each and every blade of grass with its happy yellow glow.

"You know," Eragon mused in Saphira's general direction, "if you'd clear off and leave us the frootloop alone, Saphira, this would be a very romantic moment."

_Like hell, _Saphira snorted. _I could still read your every thought. I could dive into your head the minute you started snogging, and share the experience with you. I'm pretty perverted like that._

"You sick fiend!" Eragon exclaimed angrily. "Fair enough that you're my dragon, and I know that being a player of PlayStations means that I am obliged to fulfil the obligations of a Rider and all, but is it really too much to ask for you to leave me alone so I can have a love interest?"

_Apparently, _Saphira said drily. _Besides...between the two of us, wouldn't it be a little...scandalous for you to be marrying this woman, given her...background?_

"That's none of your affair." Eragon snapped.

_Hell yes it is, _Saphira growled. _I'm the one who's going to be associated with you for my whole entire life. How do you think it makes _me _look, being the official and permanent colleague of a boy who's married to a—PORN STAR?_

"Yeah, well it's not all about _you_, Saphira, you selfish git!" Eragon burst out angrily.

"Guys, is there something you're not telling me?" Arya said mildly, having not heard Saphira's half of the conversation.

Eragon paused. "Er...not really."

"You sure?" Arya pursued. "I mean, you look really upset, Eragon. What's Saphira saying to you?"

_Don't mind him, _Saphira sniffed, this time touching Arya's mind—a trifle gingerly—with her own. _He's just being an obnoxious teenager as usual._

"Oh, I see," said Arya, while Eragon narrowly restrained himself from making an attempt on his dragon's life. "Well, I propose a toast." She pulled a bottle of champagne out of the picnic basket. "I've actually got some wonderful news to tell you," she said, pouring out some champagne for Eragon and herself and then tossing the bottle to Saphira.

"Oh yeah, and what's that?" Eragon asked, feeling himself colour slightly.

"I'm engaged." Arya announced, beaming like the cat who swallowed the chocolate-coated canary.

"Really?" Eragon gasped, his heart sinking.

"Yes," Arya said happily. "To Saphira, in fact. Catch you later, Eragon." With that, she hopped onto the backstabbing Saphira's hide and the two of them flew off into the sunset, leaving Eragon gazing listlessly after them.

Poor Eragon felt as though his heart were breaking, his stomach deflating and his bowel discharging. As a matter of fact, one of these three things really _was _happening, but as to which of the three it was specifically, that shall be left to the imagination of the reader to decide. He dragged himself over to the picnic basket and peeped half-heartedly inside. The sight that met his eye made a second of the three things mentioned happen, though again, the reader may imagine which it was. "Well," he said sadly, "if that doesn't beat all. They took the last brownie with them!"

As the full realisation of this unfortunate truth hit him, the third thing mentioned previously happened. And for a final time, which of these it was is left to the reader to decide.


	11. A Certain Something

**A Certain Something**

Saphira soared through the endless night skies, seeking a certain something. Eragon wasn't with her that evening, for he was having dinner with a bunch of fat, rich old randoms. But she didn't mind. Much as it was normal for a dragon to hate being separated from its Rider, Saphira, truth be told, utterly detested being in contact with such an obnoxious teenager for the larger portion of her time. So she was rather pleased to get away on her own every now and then.

Now, on this particular day, as has already been remarked, Saphira was looking for a certain something. In fact, that certain something was a bakery. Saphira hadn't had a great deal to eat of late, and she was passionately craving some brownies. Being in such a state of mind at the time, of course, explains the fervour of her unbridled joy at finally chancing upon a promising place, Bart's Bakery.

Saphira made a hasty landing on top of the building, crushing it to tiny pieces and killing several innocents, and then demanded several dozen brownies of the trembling Bart. Once her wishes were gratified, she tossed Bart off a nearby cliff, snorted, devoured the brownies in one fell swoop, and then took to the sky again. She was looking, once again, for a certain something.

The brownies had been delicious, but she was still hungry. She needed something further, something a little more sustaining than brownies. A thought had occurred to her, and she licked her chops absently, flying back towards the Varden's camp.

She was now passionately craving some roasted obnoxious teenager.


	12. A Drastic Misconstruction

**A Drastic Misconstruction **

Nasuada and Arya were taking a leisurely stroll together one midsummer morning, for no particular reason other than the fact that they were bored, and frankly in need of some exercise. "All this sitting around, you know, dear," Nasuada was explaining pathetically to Arya, "and eating rich food with that King Orrin and all them bloody aristocrats. To be honest with you, my dear, I'm surprised I've managed to stay in such good shape as I have thus far."

"Have you?" Arya inquired, genuinely surprised. "I'd have thought...oh, I see." A look of dawning reality took over her elvish face, and she gave a little giggle. "Don't worry, dear, I won't give your little secret away." She winked. "So long as you tell me who the young man is, that is."

Nasuada gave a slightly confused frown. "I beg your pardon?" she questioned.

"Well..." Now it was Arya's turn to be confused. "You're pregnant, aren't you?"

No one was around at this point, and so no one was quite sure _which _of the two women gave vent to the shrill, piercing scream which followed this question. But what _was _known was that the next day there was no sign of Arya. And when Eragon asked Nasuada where the elf was, the Varden leader merely gave him a mysterious smirk and said, "She's on leave."

"Oh?" Eragon replied with interest. "How jolly for her. Will she be off-duty for long, then?"

Nasuada's smirk broadened. "Permanently." she answered.


	13. One-Sided

**One-Sided**

It was a lovely spring afternoon in Alagaesia. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and Eragon and Saphira were having their usual argument. It was quite an interesting spectacle to the random bystanders present: Saphira couldn't be heard by anyone except Eragon and consequently, the argument sounded positively one-sided to those not actively participating in it.

Eragon, of course, could have spoken to Saphira with his mind as she did with him, but his temper had flared so violently and he was such an obnoxious teenager that he'd quite simply forgotten to.

Several of the soldiers present listened with all their might and main, though they naturally pretended that they were occupied with other pursuits like walking the royal corgis, weeding the Varden vegetable patches and playing Gin Rummy with each other.

"It's not my fault she's a complete pudding-head!" Eragon roared, completely oblivious to the grins on the faces of the onlookers. "...Well...why don't _you _jump into one, then?"

Saphira snorted, giving her head an imperial toss.

"No, I _won't _have him nosing about the joint!" Eragon yelled. "You can say what you like. It won't make any difference!"

Saphira growled.

"Yeah?" Eragon laughed hysterically. "Well...POTATO to you too! Bah! Why don't you just _do it _already and get it over with? Why drag it out like this?"

As Saphira flicked the tip of her tail, one or two of the soldiers nearby sniggered, but still Eragon paid them no heed.

"Door-knob yourself!" he screamed. "I'd like to see _you _try eating it, you stupid reptilian bint!"

Saphira made a noise that sounded somewhat like a dry chuckle.

"PANCAKES!" Eragon cried incredulously. "DON'T MAKE ME LAUGH, YOU DAFT DRAGON! _PANCAKES _INDEED! Well _I _say they ought to use _Brillo pads!_"

Saphira snarled, showing her fearsome teeth, and the soldiers began to giggle helplessly.

Still Eragon went on. "Pooh!" he snapped. "Go take a long walk off a short pier, you...BROWNIE THIEF!"

Saphira snickered.

"VINEGAR AND DESKTOP COMPUTERS?!" Eragon howled. "AS _IF! _THEY'RE ALL A BUNCH OF TARTS AND TROLLOPS, I TELL YOU, YOU MISERABLE BEAST!"

The soldiers were now in fits of laughter. Some had collapsed onto the ground and were screaming with mirth, tears running down their cheeks. Saphira flared her nostrils and shot a jet of blue flame out at Eragon, searing his apparel rather badly.

Eragon spat out a stream of vehement oaths and then shouted, _"FINE, _BE_ THAT WAY, POOKY! ORDER ME AROUND! SEE IF I CARE! ...SCUM-BAG!" _Then he turned his back on Saphira and stalked off. Before he had quite left the area, he finally noticed all the soldiers convulsed with hysterical giggling. "Oh, honestly," he fumed, rolling his eyes to an alarming extent, "can't you lot learn some bloody discipline? By fiddle, I've absolutely _had _it with this dump. If a bloke can't have a friendly conversation with his dragon in public without attracting a...a...a _peanut_-gallery full of immature rapscallions like you lot, then I don't know what the world's coming to."

And then he made his exit. Saphira watched him leave, then let out an airy puff of smoke, obviously not bothered in the slightest by her young Rider's outburst. The soldiers, on the other hand, laughed and laughed and _laughed—_some until they cried, others until they died. And a few until they caught severe mental illnesses.

And the afternoon wore on, eventually seguing into the evening, and the sun set, and so ended another perfect day.


	14. Hell Hath No Fury

**Hell Hath No Fury**

What exactly _is _it?" Eragon asked in a doubtful tone, eyeing the object with mild distaste.

"It's a Ferrari." Arya said matter-of-factly. "Some rellies gave it to me for a wedding present."

"You got married?" Eragon asked, aghast.

Arya rolled her eyes. "_Early _wedding present." she clarified. "I'm engaged to be married to one Sir Humphrey Herffenklurgen, but the wedding hasn't taken place yet."

"I thought you were engaged to Saphira," Eragon said, confused.

"Oh," laughed Arya, "that. No, I broke that off ages ago. Saphira stole my last brownie, you see, and, well...you know."

"Oh, I know alright." Eragon growled. "I owe that blasted dragon a sound slapping for all the brownies she's nicked off me." Arya smiled, and at first Eragon thought she was smiling at him, until he looked over his shoulder and realised that they were being approached by a man. He was old, fat, and singularly unattractive. Arya fixed him with such an admiring countenance that one would think she reckoned the sun shone out of his arse. "Not to be impolite," Eragon said impolitely as the man drew near, "but who the hell are you?"

"Allow me to introduce myself, young obnoxious teenager," said the man with great dignity. "I am Sir Humphrey Herffenklurgen, and I've come to ensure my darling little Arya is...well...quite _comfortable _in your presence."

As Eragon bristled, Arya laughed again and said, "Oh, don't be silly, darling. It's only _Eragon_, you know. The Rider. He's not the sort to take advantage of a helpless woman like me. For one thing, he doesn't have the—"

"The what?" Eragon demanded hotly.

"The vice." Arya finished on a calm note, though she was blushing a little.

On a normal occasion, Eragon would have smiled at this supposed compliment. Today, however, he felt bleaker than anything. Arya, _his _Arya, his _non-PlayStation_ Arya, was getting married—and not to him! It was terrible, just terrible. "Goodbye." he said abruptly, taking his leave as gracefully as he could under the circumstances.

Arya and Sir Humphrey watched him go. "What an odd young chap he is," Humphrey commented.

"And _very_ obnoxious," Arya said, rolling her eyes for a second time.

"Quite," agreed Humphrey. "Now come on, my dear. Let us away to the dance hall. They're holding a snazzy disco there tonight, I hear, and you promised me you'd teach me that dance—the, er...what was it called again?"

"The cream pitcher," Arya supplied. "Sure thing, honey-bun. I'll just nip off to my tent and get changed."

"Take your time, my dear," Humphrey said tenderly. "I'll be waiting here as long as you need me to."

Arya grinned at him, then hurried off. On arriving in her tent, however, she was surprised to find Eragon awaiting her. "Eragon!" she exclaimed. "What are _you _doing in my tent? It's not proper, you know, to enter without my leave."

"True that," Eragon admitted. "But listen, Arya. Oh, Arya, I just _had _to speak with you in private."

Arya raised an eyebrow. "Well, here I am. Speak quickly, though, for I'm supposed to be meeting Humphrey outside in a few moments."

"Well, that's just it." said Eragon. "Thing is, Arya...I hate you."

Arya stared at him. "W-What?" she stammered.

"I hate you." Eragon repeated calmly. "I hate you desperately, passionately, with every atom that forms my body and essence. I hate and despise you more than all other beings in Alagaesia combined—and that includes Galbatorix."

"But...but—why?" Arya cried.

"Isn't it obvious?" Eragon shot back. "You're marrying _that _fat old loser and not me! I'm a freaking _Dragon Rider_, for Pete's sake! Can't you open your eyes to how happy we'd have been together? Egad! You make me _sick_, woman! I shall never from this moment on understand what I saw in you. Whatever it was, it's gone now, and this 'relationship' of ours which didn't really exist in the first place is now _over_. Consider yourself _dumped_." With that dramatic outburst, Eragon walked away, leaving Arya stricken and on the verge of tears.

"You're right, of course." she whispered.

In the distance, Eragon paused despite the fact that he couldn't possibly have heard the words which were so quietly uttered. "Pardon?" he said.

"You're right, Eragon." Arya wailed. "You're completely, totally, wholly and utterly right. We _would _have been happy together. I _do _make you sick. I made _completely _the wrong choice. I'm...I'm sorry."

"Really?" Eragon wondered. "So...will you take me after all, then?"

Arya blinked twice. "I thought you hated me."

"I was just being an obnoxious teenager," Eragon confessed. "I could never hate you, Arya."

A small smile appeared on Arya's face. "I'm sorry." she said again.

"For what?" Eragon asked softly, approaching her with open arms.

"I'M SORRY YOU'RE SUCH A TOTAL _ARSE!_" Arya screeched, striding forward and slapping him viciously across the face. "I'M SORRY I EVER LET YOU UPSET ME WITH THOSE HORRIBLE WORDS! I'M SORRY I EVER FLAUNTED MYSELF IN FRONT OF YOU IN SUCH A WAY THAT YOU FELL IN LOVE WITH ME! I'M SORRY OUR PATHS WERE EVER CROSSED! I'M SORRY YOU WERE EVER _BORN!_" She slapped him again, several times, until he fell over. Then she stormed off, muttering grimly under her breath, climbed into her Ferrari and drove off, deliberately running over several soldiers and small dogs in her raging fury.

Eragon lay down in the grass and massaged his bruised cheek gently. "Damn," he murmured. "I overdid it."


	15. Bad Idea

**Bad Idea**

"I knew this was a bad idea." Brom muttered.

"Nonsense," grinned Eragon, who was strolling cheerfully around the woods. It was slightly odd how cheerful he was, actually. Not many people would have been too cheerful in his position. But then, maybe he was just the kind of person who _enjoyed _being turned into a magical talking chicken.

"I just _knew _this was a bad idea." Brom repeated.

"Aww, you're an old worry-wart." Eragon laughed. "Being a magical talking chicken is more fun than it looks."

"It'd _have _to be." Brom said drily. "Anyway, rather you than me."

_I'll drink to that, _grinned Saphira.

"Yeah, we all know _you _would, Saphira." said Brom. "Considering chickens can't eat brownies, and I've gone off them since my ill-fated love affair, _you'll _have them all."

"WHAT?!" screamed Eragon.

_Shut up, you obnoxious teenager, _Saphira ordered before turning to Brom. _But seriously, Brom, _she added. _Do we have any drink around here at all? Cos I'm bloody thirsty, and I'd like a bit of vodka or summat._

Brom thought for a minute. Then he smiled widely. "Now I come to think of it," he said slowly, "there's a marvellous little brew I can whip up in a jiffy. It tastes absolutely fantastic, I can tell you—and you'll _never _guess the secret ingredient."

_Yeah? _Saphira wondered, intrigued. _What is it, then?_

"Magical talking chickens." said Brom with a wicked grin.

As one, Brom and Saphira both turned to Eragon, who looked back up at them with his newly-transformed magical talking chicken eyeballs and swallowed hard. "Crap." he said. And the interesting coincidence is that _that _was what had just hit the ground between his feet.

**A/N: **And that's all, folks. If I made you laugh, feel free to PM me about it. If not, then have a brownie on me. I know _I'm_ going to.


End file.
